Lightweight
by AgentPhantom
Summary: Peeta and Cato are chosen as tributes for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Cato is clearly interested, but Peeta isn't sure exactly how he feels. He has time to find out when their stay at Capitol takes on some twists and turns. Their stay is extended when Capitol experiences malfunctions that may be related to rebellion. Rated M for future chapters.
1. The Reapings

**Author's Note:** This will just set the groundwork for later chapters! Enjoy!

* * *

"Peeta Mellark".

That was my name. Effie Trinket just said my name. In this moment, the people from District 12 are all focused on me. Some people look at me with sympathy, others with relief since it's me instead of a loved one heading into the Hunger Games arena. I look back to see my family — the devastation on their faces, except for my mother.

Without question, a pathway is made for me as I approach the stage. Each step is crippling as it allows for the truth to set in. No one is volunteering to take my place. I'm walking towards certain death.

The odds were certainly not in my favor today. Since I come from a modest bakery, I had no need to sign up for the tesserae. I'm 16 and my name was only entered in five times. Five out of some thousand other names. Some people had their names in the bowl over fifty times. Yet "Peeta Mellark" was withdrawn from the bowl. I would represent District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

The Capitol anthem begins to play, and the numbness settles in, but doesn't last long, since we're given an hour to say our goodbyes and I know I'll be crying.

My family enters separately. My siblings all enter at once, and their presence alone is enough to break through the numbness. They offer their forms of encouragement, and fake motivational talk, but even they seem to know that I won't make it out alive. I can't help but cry and embrace them for what may be my last. My father is next. He gives me a long hug, and doesn't really say much. I'm not surprised since he isn't a talkative person. He's just very affectionate, in stark contrast with my mother, who visits me last.

"It looks like District 12 may finally have a winner," she coldly says. "Try not to die so quickly." I look into her eyes and see no change in her expression. She's emotionless. She doesn't care. Or maybe she's happy at the fact that, during times of hardship, there's a chance that there will be one less mouth to feed. Even if she'll miss me, she's betting on Katniss. She just sits there until the Peacekeeper dismisses her. And even when she's dismissed, she doesn't say anything or try and make me feel any comfort.

Her "goodbye" hits me the hardest. _Maybe it is better that I'm going away_. As soon as she's out of the room, I'm given a few minutes of silence, because the hour has yet to expire. I use the remaining time to cry. To pray. To come up with a strategy of survival. But mostly to cry. I cry about leaving my family. I cry about entering the Hunger Games. I cry because, even though I can look tough, death is terrifying. I've seen the Hunger Games. I know that death is guaranteed for at least twenty-three of us.

The car ride to Capitol blurred by. Effie Trinket, the escort to District 12, spent the beginning of the ride talking on and on about how excited she was for this year's District 12 tributes. Haymitch, the District 12 mentor and, as of right now, Panem's biggest drunkard joke, is alternating between periods of sobriety and drunkenness. This man can still drink even after he's completely made a fool of himself by tripping on anything and everything during the reaping. How was he supposed to help me if he can't even help himself? Katniss Everdeen, the female tribute from District 12, seems almost emotionless. She'd volunteered so that her younger sister wouldn't have to participate in the game. In that moment, Katniss displayed more emotions than I'd seen from her in my entire life.

After a dinner meal, our trainer, Haymitch, who'd made quite the performance at the District 12 reaping, begins yelling at me and Katniss. He wants us to observe the other reapings. I didn't really want to see the other tributes. These other tributes were my potential killers. They're my potential killers, but they're teenagers. Young adults. They're just like me. I decide to watch the program, regardless of how uneasy it made me. A majority of the tributes chosen were kids. Some tributes stood out though. There was a blonde tribute from District 1. The tribute from District 5 who's face heavily resembled a fox.

The tribute who sticks out to me the most, however, was the boy volunteer from District 2. Blonde, muscular, and cold. He's brutish, but very handsome. He's cold, yet charming. Interest seemed to quickly build inside of me. Then I realize that my mind was probably taking interest in mundane things. He's just another tribute, I think. He would kill me without second thought. I don't know why I took such a quick interest in him. Maybe he's… No. I can't afford to make this situation different — I'm in a fight for my life. Thoughts focused on things other than survival are pointless and a waste of my time. I stop thinking about the District 2 tribute for the remainder of the program.

Then Katniss and I are on screen. Katniss, as emotionless as ever, except for the footage of her volunteering, appeared calm and almost apathetic to the whole situation. I, however, looked like a hot mess. I'd looked just about as bad as I felt. As the anthem plays, signaling the end of the program, I realize that, strategically, the tears may have not been my best move. The Hunger Games is, in essence, a game. Once someone is chosen as a player, or, in this case, a tribute, he/ she has to assume the position of the player immediately. I probably made myself look like a weak and pathetic player.

I push this idea aside and excuse myself from the room. I walk into my room and I realize how exhausted I am. I'd spent a lot of time crying and decide that I would just cry myself to sleep. Now is the time for weakness. In this moment of solitude, now is the time for tears.

* * *

"I volunteer as tribute."

More often than not, the tributes from District 2 are volunteers. I'd trained my whole life for this moment. So I volunteered.

The crowd reacts with deafening enthusiasm to my announcement. They ate stuff like this up. They loved having two hero-like tributes represent them ever year at the Hunger Games. They loved the feeling of pride. I, alongside, Clove, would represent District 2 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. It was an honor.

We are offered a moment to say goodbye, but we decide that we'll meet our families before we get onto the trains that will transport us to Capitol.

My parents and little sister arrive at the train station. My sister is clearly anxious and worried, but she's the only one who is. My father is, however, proud that I have volunteered. "Go get 'em, son." He hugs me for a while. It's interrupted when the Peacekeeper assigned to me reminds us of the time.

My sister just tells me to win, and I can tell that she doesn't say much more because she doesn't want to cry. I'm prepared, but victory is never guaranteed. I just give her a small smile.

The peacekeeper tells me that it's time to board the train when I look at my mother. She doesn't smile or say anything. She turns around and walks away.

This is typical of her. I was never much of a son to her. And she's never been much of a mother to her. She originally planned on aborting me, but my father wouldn't let her, so she's carried that resentment with her forever. She had me at such a young age, and I ruined any chance she had at having a normal life. I remember waking up to her screaming and throwing things across my room. She was going on and on about how I ruined her life. I remember one night when I was eleven years old. She came into my room and began pointing to her stomach and complaining about her figure, but what I remember the most is her slapping me across the face. My strength must come from her because the slap still stings in my memories. But I cried that day, and it was the only time I've ever let her see me weak.

She's the reason why I'm so cold. At least, why I appear to be cold. I promised myself to be stronger so that I would never give her the satisfaction of my pain. Besides wielding a sword, pushing aside emotions is a great talent of mine. All thanks to mother dearest.

The train ride to the Capitol wouldn't take too long. So I lock myself in my room and try to get some sleep.

This doesn't prove to be too successful, so I go to a room with my fellow tribute, Clove, our mentor, Brutus, and our escort, who is almost insignificant. We observe the reapings. I look at the reaping from District One and see a ditsy blonde and a lean boy. Most of them are kids. We have a tough looking guy from District 11.

District 12, however, stands out to me the most. There's a volunteer who bravely takes the spot of her sister, and then a boy who obviously isn't ready for the games. The volunteer's name is Katniss, and the crier's name is Peeta. I am immediately intrigued by the latter of the two.

The boy is cute, no doubt. Infatuation has definitely been something I'm bad at pushing away. I'm a young adult. I learned enough in school to know that hormones are coursing through me. I'm interested, but he can't portray himself as weak. I'm sympathetic towards him.

I look to Clove just to be sure that she can't read my thoughts. She is eating some chocolate covered berries. I'm glad she can't read minds. No one really knows who I really am, with the exception of a few people. Clove is in that category. She knows me because we trained together, but she doesn't know everything about me. Especially not when I think someone is cute.

"I'm going to bed," I announce to everyone, and this sets of a domino effect, where everyone decides that it's time to go to bed.

Before I enter my room, Clove's behind me. "Any cuties you spot this year?" She smirks. I hate that she knows a lot about me.

"Nope. I was hoping for a Finnick this year!" I lie and try to enter my room, but she stops me.

"Uh huh. I totally didn't notice your face light up when you saw that tribute from twelve." So, she did notice. I should have known. Only I get to see this playful side of Clove that I've grown to love. She can be just as apathetic as me, but she's such a funny person to be around. I almost wish it were anyone but her going in with me in the arena. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight!" I respond. I am really tired, so I just fall asleep in my reaping clothes.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day.

* * *

**So, this begins my attempt at writing Hunger Games fanfiction. Please, please review! I hope to update in less than a week! **


	2. Blackout

**Author's Note**: Hopefully you enjoy it! This might help explain the little description for the story!

* * *

I wake up to swift and loud knocks to my door. It's Clove trying to retrieve me for breakfast. She's telling me that we're nearing the Capitol, and we have an hour to eat and get ready.

The breakfast here is wonderful. Dozens of rolls, juices, teas, meats, etc. I've seen these kinds of foods before. At parties. Gatherings with important people from District 2. I waste no time with the grains or the cereals and decide that I need protein. I'm going to need to put on some more weight in order to survive in the arena. It'd be a bad idea to enter a death match malnourished.

"Please prepare a steak for me. Medium rare," I tell an Avox. And he does. The steak is prepared in no time and I'm at the table eating next to Brutus and Clove.

Clove is eating some rolls and orange juice. Brutus is playing with one of the rolls.

We don't really need Brutus to be here. He doesn't want to be here, but having a mentor is required. The mentors, alongside our escort, are supposed to organize our sponsors and their donations. He doesn't have advice to offer us. _Survive_. That's really all he can say. That's all anyone can say to us.

"Alright, time to hit the showers," Clove says as she playfully ruffles through my hair. "We should be arriving at Capitol in thirty minutes or so."

So I do as she says. I head back to my room and start the shower. As I'm undressing myself, I look at the mirror, and stare into my reflection. Those years of working out and pushing myself to my limits have paid off. I'm not grotesque to look at, which is a huge advantage. Let's face it. Being attractive is only a bonus in the Hunger Games. I'd rather sponsor a good-looking, decent fighter, than an atrocious animal.

The shower is a bit finicky. A lot more complicated than the one I have at home. So many buttons. Exfoliate. Coconut. Almond. Am I supposed to eat this? I press a few buttons and just hope for the best. I manage to sit through ten minutes of a lukewarm shower.

When I'm done, I dry myself off and put on a button up shirt, pants and nice shoes.

Cloves finished too. She's wearing a simplistic black dress, but I see that she isn't the same girl who was playfully ruffling my hair a few minutes ago. No. She's colder. Her demeanor has shifted entirely. I think it's time that I do the same.

Clove is among the few who have seen me happy. She's one of the few who can make me happy. But we both know that we need our exteriors to reflect hatred and strength. Intimidation does wonders in the Hunger Games. It can make the difference between survival and death. If other's fear you, you're more powerful. It's as simple as that.

So I join her. I suppress any and every emotion, until my disposition matches Clove's. Angry. Strong. Powerful. This, in itself, is a weapon.

* * *

Our arrival to Capitol was smooth. I didn't get much sleep, however. I spent a lot of the night crying, and it was very apparent at breakfast. No one offered their comfort though. It'd be pointless to do so.

I'm a hopeless case. I've given up on myself. But I've made up my mind. I'm going to make the best of this situation.

The crowd at Capitol is the first indicator that we've arrived. They roaring with excitement. So I wave enthusiastically at all of them, and the roars get louder.

These people are pathetic. How do you find entertainment in gore? It astonishes me. But somewhere in this crowd, there's a potential sponsor. Someone who will be willing to send me something. I motion Katniss over to wave the audience and we do. They clearly love Katniss more, probably since she volunteered for her sister.

Katniss is standing next to me as we enter the infamous Training Center. I've seen the Hunger Games enough to know what goes on. I like to call it the transformation. The tributes are taken in here and transformed into something that will represent our district. They go from perfectly normal looking children, to, well, anything that the stylists can imagine.

Since Katniss and I are from District 12, we'll have to be made into something coal-related. Our costumes are usually pathetic. One year, the tributes from District 12 looked like they had coal glued onto them. They were horrible. It was like the stylists that year gave up on them. Those tributes were among the first to die.

Katniss and I are separated as we both undergo preparation for the opening ceremonies of the 74th annual Hunger Games.

I enter a remarkably white room. This is where I'll be treated. I'm stripped of my clothes and immediately submerged into a tub. I'm submerged into a couple of tubs. I sit in a couple of chemical baths. I'm waxed from head to toe. My eyebrows are plucked. Any scar on my body is erased. They do something weird to my face. They apply a special wax-like substance to it and let it sit for a while as it hardens, and then they take it off.

"You won't be seeing hair there for a while," I can hear one of the members of my prep team say.

My body feels so chemically altered when my prep team decides that they're done with me. It didn't hurt too much. I did flinch a couple of times. At least I'm not weak. This is an advantage over most of the children tributes. They wish me the best of luck before the exit the room and leave me alone for a while.

It all seems to go by so quickly. I entered feeling normal and myself, and now feel as though I've been taken apart. My prep team didn't even have the decency to cover me up. I'm naked and I'm alone in the white room. I begin to panic when a woman walks in. Portia. My stylist's name is Portia. And she's holding a garment bag, and I assume that it's going to be my costume. My transformation.

My stylist is a little awkward looking. Her hair is platinum blonde, and her face is caked with several layers and color of makeup, but the most prominent color is black. Black lipstick. Black dress. She only has accents of pink on her. The Capitol fashion gets more and more ridiculous each year.

First impressions are everything to me. First, my stylist hasn't said a word to me. She's just been observing my naked body and the costume in the garment bag. _She's given up on me. She's going to rub my body with coal and then throw me into the Capitol audience so I can be laughed at._ And this costume isn't much. It almost looks like I'm going to be sporting a trash bag._ Great, she already thinks I'm trash_. It's black, shiny, and felt like a thick plastic.

"Listen, we're going to stray from the typical." She pauses as if she's on the verge of saying something brilliant. "We're going to do something that's completely different." Portia looks at me and smiles. These are the first words she has said to me. I realize now that she's not speaking to me because she doesn't like me or has given up on me. She's just focused on her work, and, from the looks of it, she's super excited to reveal something amazing about the trash bag that I'm holding. "Put it on."

And so I do. It fits nicely, but still isn't any more impressive on my body as it was in my hand. What she does next surprises me and catches me off guard. She presses a couple of buttons and then the next thing I know is that I'm on fire and then lightly laughs to herself. I'm on fire. "Perfection."

My first instinct is to put it out. I know what to do when something is on fire, and I know what to do when I'm one fire. Stop, drop and roll. I've dealt with fires at the bakery before. They often are the reason why my mother hits me. But this fire isn't going out. _Damn it, I'm already going to die_. I come to the conclusion that my stylist is incompetent, or already wants me dead. I'm panicking, but the lack of the burn doesn't register for a while. And then it hits me. I'm not burning. This "fire" — it's synthetic.

She's smiling, and now I know why. Because she's right. This has never been done before. I'm going into the opening ceremonies burning. Katniss and I will be on fire.

* * *

This year, Clove and I are gladiators. This is the costume and I like it. We like it. We represent pure strength and power. The gladiators were ancient warriors who were strong and notorious for their might. It's simple, but makes a bold statement.

We're placed in a room with the other tributes. I like some of the costumes this year. Some of them are awkward though. What catches me off guard is the District 12 tributes. They look like they're dressed in garbage plastic. Their make up, is intricate however. This is the first time I see the District 12 boy in person. The lighting in the room is dim, but I can make him out regardless.

_Hmm, he's cuter in person_, I can't help think. I begin to lick my lips, but Clove nudges me before I can fantasize any further. And then my head is refocused and my outward appearance is fixed. Brutal. Cruel.

"Ladies and gentleman of the Capitol, and for those viewers tuning in from all of Panem," there's a dramatic pause in the host's voice. "Welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games opening ceremony!" And then I can hear the crowd through the shut doors.

It's time for the ceremonies to begin. Clove squeezes my hand. It's clear that we're both having an episode of stage fright. I squeeze her hand back and then the gates open. The sound of the crowd is no longer being suppressed, and I can barely hear my own thoughts when I see that the District 1 tributes are released. The cheering only gets louder.

It's District 2's turn. We ready the horses on our chariots and then we are given the go. As soon as we enter the strip, the crowd is cheering for us. The Career districts are usually the most loved. They are usually given the most cheers. Clove and I are successful at looking tough.

Roses are being thrown Clove and I and as soon as we near the City Circle, District 3 is released. Our time in the lime light is over. Then 4 is released. Then 5. I observe the whole ceremony on the wide screen in the City Circle and observe who I should be ready for in the arena. Most of the tributes are little kids.

The real show stoppers for the opening ceremonies are District 12, to my surprise. The two exit the holding chamber and enter the strip and they are ablaze. The fire is burning brilliantly and the Capitol is cheering wildly for the two. The cheers they are receiving are beyond anything the other Districts have received.

The other thing I notice is their unity. They're holding hands. A sign of friendship.

All of the other tributes are clearly jealous of the two, so Clove and I act as angry and intimidating as ever. But I'm not angry. I want to congratulate the two on their job well done. They were stunning. Their stylists deserve a lot of credit. I'm not too worried about their display. We usually get sponsors anyway. I just wish I could tell them.

But I'll never get the chance. This isn't that kind of competition. There is no encouragement between competitors.

The boy from District 12 and I make eye contact for the first time. Clove is very observant and nudges me yet again. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue, but they are stained with worry. This whole arena is making him worried, but he's carrying himself well. I hope he doesn't think too much of the eye contact. But I think I looked cruel enough so that he'd think I was just trying to intimidate him.

The ceremony is about to come to a close when the anthem begins to blare. And then, suddenly, there is a blackout. What was two feet away from my line of vision is obscured by darkness. I can't see much of anything, but I can feel Clove squeeze my hand. The blackout must be inclusive of all of the Capitol because the stars are the only thing that can be seen. My eyes are still adjusting from the sudden switch from light to dark. The arena is completely silent for a couple of seconds, until the crowd begins to panic.

"What's going on?" "Turn the lights back on." They are shrieking and screaming for a while, until the lights do return to the Capitol and City Circle. The anthem plays from where it left off, but the crowd is clearly shaken up.

Someone from a speaker above is telling everyone to be calm, and the crowd eventually gives in when they realize that a black out is unlikely to happen again.

"These things happen. Please panic no further. Thank you for attending the opening ceremonies," the voice says from above.

But that's the thing. These things don't happen in the Capitol. This place is "perfect". It's supposed to be perfect. We were taught in school that this place was perfect. There aren't black outs. There are no mistakes.

I hate the Capitol just as much as any other tribute should. I'm sick of their antics. Death isn't amusing. I'd like to see half of the Capitol people be put in a fight for their life. I'd love to see the amusement on their faces. I hate the Capitol so much, but I would be lying if I said that they mess up with technology. They are very advanced with technology, so this black out is pretty enigmatic.

The tributes are clearly confused too, but none of them are too worried. The Peacekeepers are pretty calm too. They must not think much of what happened. They probably think it was a mistake too. The black out doesn't seem to cause too much worry, but this will probably be looked into. It doesn't seem like a big issue. Either someone made a mistake, or someone is messing with the Capitol. Regardless of what happened, someone is going to get punished. No one interferes with the Hunger Games.

* * *

When we arrive at our living quarters, I decide that I need something to eat, so Katniss and I head to the kitchen.

Effie and Haymitch are talking about what might have been possible sources of the black out.

"The city was probably just using too much electricity," I suggest. But I don't even know if that has scientific credibility. Effie and Haymitch clearly don't think that either and cast away the idea.

"Well, I've been told that it was due to some problem with the electrical fuses," Effie begins as she sits down at the dinner table. "They're looking into it, and will inform the mentors and the escorts on any updates. Pay no attention to it. That isn't your problem. Let's eat."

They're serving a sort of stew, with chicken legs and a chocolate cake. This food is so luxurious and rich, and I manage to stomach most of it. It's so good. There isn't much conversation. Just light small talk. Effie and Haymitch are congratulating both the tributes and the stylists for a job well done. Our first impression is a memorable one.

I finish dinner before everyone else, and tell Effie that I need some air.

"Alright, but be back no later than eleven. Tomorrow begins your training, and you need to be well rested." Well, no matter how hard I try, I won't be able to get any sleep. She acts like it's so easy for me to sleep under the conditions and pressure I'm under, but I dismiss the thought. She's just being a good mentor.

I head into the elevator and click the "ROOF" button. And it takes me to the roof quickly.

When the doors open, I realize that I'm not alone. The starry sky help shape the muscular image of the boy from District 2. He's up here too. Why? Does he need air? Throughout the whole ceremony, nothing has fazed him. He looked undisturbed the whole time.

I try to be quiet as I approach another side of the roof, but he notices.

"Clove, I told you that I wanted—" he turns around and realizes that he isn't talking to Clove, the female tribute from his District. "Oh, it's you, 12."_ Yes, it is me_.

If I needed to find air, I wouldn't find it up here. It's getting harder for me to breathe and I know that it's because of the boy from District 2.

"My name is Cato," he says. Cato. What's he trying to do? Scare me? Befriend me? Something is different about him. He isn't cruel-looking. He isn't intimidating.

"My name is Peeta," I say quietly. He nods to acknowledge that he heard me. And then we're up there for a while. We're both on the same wall, but we're distant from one another. Maybe that's it, I think. We'll just be acquaintances. That's fine.

There's silence for a couple of minutes and then Cato speaks. "Hey, look." He grabs a rock from the floor and throws it over the roof. Before I can even yell at him for almost harming someone below, the rock flies back. "Imagine if it were a tribute instead of a rock."

That's the only vocal exchange we have for a while, but the tension has died down. We're a little more comfortable up here. There surely are cameras up here, so we need to be careful of what we say. But that doesn't seem to be too much of a problem because we clearly aren't saying anything.

A couple more minutes go by, when Cato stands up. "Night, Peeta." I get up and we make eye contact again. His eyes are such a beautiful shade of light blue. He's gorgeous. There's no denying it. The eye contact lasts for a second and then Cato's headed for the elevator. I hope he didn't notice me turn red. He stops and then turns around. "Your display for District 12 during the opening ceremonies - it was, umm, great." And then he's in the elevator, then he's gone.

"Goodnight."

And then I'm alone.

Did he really just say that? I'd think he'd say something like, " Stay out of my way" or "Try not to die" or "Please do die" or "I will be responsible for your death". What's this guy trying to do? By the look on his face, I'm almost certain that he was being sincere. He was genuinely impressed with our display, and this makes me happy.

I take in a few deep breaths before I decide that it's my time to sleep. I head back down to the penthouse and enter to see Effie on one of the luxurious couches. "Just in time," She pauses to look at her watch. "Goodnight, Mr. Mellark."

Without question, I head to my room, take off my clothes so that I'm wearing my boxers only, and then I'm asleep.

* * *

I head back to the second floor and enter my room. I see that Clove is there, no doubt so that we can sleep in the same bed. Nothing intimate. It's just we prefer each other's company than the solitary confinement in our rooms. Like a pair of siblings.

I head for the abnormally huge bed. It's big enough for the both of us, and then some.

"Clove, I can't do it. He's too cute," I adjust the blanket over my body. Clove's on the opposite side of the bed, and she's sleeping so that her feet face her head, and vice versa.

She smiles. "Cato, you know you can't be thinking like that." She grabs a pillow and adjusts it comfortably. "You looked like you were going to strip him of his clothes during the opening ceremony, Cato. You are one horny kid."

She's right. If there weren't restraints, and this wasn't televised, then I might have jumped on Peeta then and there. But he was holding hands with Katniss, and whether this was because he wanted to or because he was forced to, I don't know.

"I know, I know." I'm laughing and adjusting my pillow so I'm comfortable. "He was on the roof earlier, you know. He turned red when we made eye contact. I think I just intimidated him. I told him that I liked their chariot ride and display. Was that a mistake?"

She sighs. "I don't know. Do you want him in the Career alliance?"

That's right. Alliances. I realize that I'm back in the Hunger Games and not at home.

I know she doesn't want him in the alliance. He'd only present a distraction, but she likes me enough and cares about my opinion.

"I'm not sure, but we should sleep. Night, Clove."

She doesn't say anything, but consents and we both begin to sleep, which is something we both desperately need.

Tomorrow begins training.

* * *

**Please, please review! If you have already, then thank you. They are beyond helpful in my fanfic!**


	3. Blush

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the long wait, but here's the chapter. Thank you for the kind reviews! You guys are awesome. Also, I'll try and get to the games as soon as possible, but I need to set a foundation first!

* * *

Haymitch says that during training we are to stay away from the centers that specialize in the skills that we are strongest in. For Katniss, that's archery. For me, it's lifting things. Or baking, but I'm pretty sure I won't find an oven in the training center.

We are to train for three days straight. And then, on the fourth day, each tribute gets a fifteen minute private session with the Gamemakers, where a score will be assigned to each tribute. The scores vary from 1 to 12, 1 being the most abysmal, and 12 being the best. The day after our private sessions, we are to have our interviews with Caesar Flickerman, the notorious host for the Hunger Games. And after that, well, the games begin.

Haymitch's plan of action is to gain the upper hand on the other tributes. He warns us that the Career tributes will immediately show off their skills on the first day of training. We aren't to be intimidated by this. We just need to experiment with some of the survival centers - setting up traps, building a fire, etc. - for the training, but stay away from the centers that would highlight our strengths. Then, Haymitch hopes that we'll pull high enough scores to scare the other tributes.

Intimidation is the weapon Haymitch is trying to create. Fear is powerful.

Perhaps it was my visit to the roof with Cato, or the fact that I am extremely exhausted, but my sleep after the opening ceremonies was the most comfortable and energizing sleep I've had in a while. It's, of course, interrupted by a certain Effie Trinket, who is always prompt, hasty and hurried.

"Peeta Mellark, you have fifteen minutes to shower and get ready for breakfast." _Yes, mother_. Without allowing me to argue about how she's interrupted my rest, she's off, her heels clicking agonizingly loud. She's probably off to wake up Katniss.

But orders are orders. I take off my clothes and head to the shower. I look at myself in the mirror, and take a second to analyze my attributes. I do have muscle. I'm not repulsive. My arms seem to be where most of my muscle is concentrated, but my chest and abs look like they're developing. _Hopefully I attract some sponsor in the arena_, I think. I enter the shower, and observe the interesting device that controls the complicated shower. So many buttons. I'm pretty sure that some of these excess buttons are just for decoration. I settle on what seems to be a low power shower setting, that occasionally shoots out a soapy chemical. I shower for about ten minutes and then dry myself. The clothes that Portia has provided for me are simple. A black tee with red and grey accents, along with the number of the District.

As I am about to sit for breakfast, Haymitch pulls me aside. "Peeta, be sure to get on Katniss's good side. I'm devising a plan and it requires cooperation between you two." I give a quick glance to Katniss and then I look back at Haymitch. This isn't the drunkard, asshole mentor that I'm used to. He's being serious. There's a sense of urgency in his voice, so I nod and head to the dining table, where an omelet with slices of steak and wild rice awaits me. The Capitol may be disgusting, but the food surely isn't.

Haymitch tries to get Katniss and I to speak to one another. It's clear that we aren't the closest of friends. Aside from contact on the train ride here, and the awkward eye contact at school, the only real contact we've ever had was back when we were young, barely old enough to qualify for the tesserae, something I could tell that she desperately needed. She was standing outside of my bakery, and it was pouring rain. She needed food, and resigned under a tree. She must have been walking for hours in search of food. She was about to give up, but she couldn't. I knew that she lived for more than herself. She lived for her family, a family that was newly mourning the loss of the father, so I needed to do something to help her. My sympathy towards her wouldn't allow her to starve another second. So I sacrificed two loaves of bread and burnt them. My mother hit me for them, and told me to feed it to the pigs. I didn't. Katniss was the only recipient to the loaves of bread. I might have saved her life, but we've never verbally exchanged much of anything. She's elusive. She keeps to herself.

"Katniss, which station do you want to visit first?" I ask her. It's a long time before she formulates a response, but it isn't even verbal. It's just a shrug as she sips on some orange juice. Her good side might be harder to get on than I anticipated.

Katniss and I arrive to the training area according to schedule, but we're the last tributes to arrive. Perhaps it's fear or excitement that brought them here so quickly. We're introduced to Atala, the head trainer in the training arena. She informs us on the several stations and the basics of how our training will work. She also goes over the many ways tributes die.

Not only can other tributes kill you, but lack of sleep, hunger, thirst, infection, blood poisoning - all of these wonderful things can result in our deaths. I've watched the Hunger Games before. I know this. I've seen worthy contenders succumb to food deprivation or thirst. It's a reminder how despicable these games are.

Katniss and I are the first to visit some of the more obscure stations. No one really seems to care for knot tying. So that's where we end up going. I'm not very great at tying knots, and make pretty flimsy and feeble traps. Katniss, however, is pretty good at setting up snares, and I think the instructor for this station is grateful to have participants. Careers usually stray away from these stations because they always have a steady source of food. I notice Cato at the obstacle station, dubbed "the Gauntlet". He's really good at getting through the obstacle. The shirt hugs his muscles well and his muscles are rippling. He notices me observing him and gives me a tiny smile before he refocuses and gets back to showing off on the obstacle course provided. Katniss snaps me back into reality to tell me that we should move onto the next station.

Katniss heads over to the edible plants section. Again, Katniss proves to have more knowledge in this station than I do. I just know that plants are green, but Katniss has more than a basic grasp of which plants are edible and which are deadly. We spend about thirty minutes at the station.

"Remember, if you aren't one hundred percent certain of what you might be eating, then don't eat it," the instructor happily informs us. She must not get a lot of tributes either.

"Peeta, do you want to try the camouflage station?" Katniss asks me softly. I got a sentence out of Katniss Everdeen.

"Sure," I reply quietly. We head to the camouflage station and it pleases me to finally be at a station where I can thrive. The paint is just like the frosting in the bakery. Except, this time, I'm the cake. It's fascinating, and a nice reminder of the nicer aspects of home. I don't even notice Katniss leave. It's not too shocking that she left me, but I'm too fixated on my arm, which is becoming the bark of the tree. The camouflage instructor is extremely pleased with my work. I'm about to work with the greener colors to see if I can blend in with grass when there's a ring and then an announcement.

"Attention, attention. Tributes, it is time for lunch."

"I'm just going to go to the bathroom to wash this off. It's this way, right?" I ask, motioning to one of the doors. The camouflage instructor nods and I head for the bathroom. This paint is tough, but it washes off pretty quickly. I'm washing the residue of the paint off when Cato walks in. He probably is washing his hands from the sweat he's given out during training. I don't think anyone has worked as hard as him and Clove.

"Hey, Cato," I say blankly. I'm not sure if he remembers me from last night. I'm not even sure whether I should consider him a friend or not, but I'll be polite with him.

"Hey, Peeta," he replies coldly. He seems so focused all of the time, like he's ready to kill at any moment. He's still pretty good looking, even though he's extremely sweaty._ He's going to get a lot of sponsors_, I think.

"You look great out there," I say encouragingly. Then I realize what I said, and all of what it might imply. He wouldn't interpret it as flirting. "I didn't mean it, you know... I didn't mean it like _that_..." Well this is pretty damn awkward.

Cato chuckles for a little. It isn't as cold as I would expect. It's almost light and real. There isn't much room for laughter in a situation like the one we're in, but he's laughing. "You too," he replies. He winks at me, and I'm hoping that he turns to walk out just in time to not see me blush. He then walks out of the bathroom to eat his lunch, leaving me anxious. He winked. And I'm blushing.

* * *

Clove motions me over to her table where other tributes sit, no doubt to form the Career Alliance.

"What took you so long in the-" She's about to finish her question when she sees Peeta walk out of the same general area that I came from, and then gives me a mockingly surprised glare with her mouth agape. "Naughty, naughty boy, Cato. I wonder if sex is considered abuse, or grounds for punishment here in the training center. You are going to be in a lot of trouble."

"Clove, I didn't have sex with him. We were just in the bathroom together. We just happened to wash our hands at the same time. And sex shouldn't count."

"Sure... Cato, you did something. He's blushing," Clove jokes as she lightly shoves my arm.

Before we can continue, I'm interrupted by one of the tributes at our table. "Hi, Cato. My name is Glimmer. You look great out there." That's the same thing Peeta said to me, but it's almost disgusting coming out of her mouth. Glimmer. She's undoubtedly from District 1, the luxury district. She's so ditsy and such an air-head that her flirting is kind of amusing. But I'm uncomfortable with her throwing her hands all over me.

"Get off of me," I say sternly. She takes umbrage at the fact that I'm so cold towards her, but I really don't care. She's probably used to getting what she wants.

"Jerk," she roughly states. She quickly readjusts herself, and then becomes just as ditsy as before.

Another tribute comes to approach me. "Hey, Cato. My name is Marvel. I specialize in the spear and pole weapons." Marvel. He, too, must be from the ditsy District. Well, with a name like that, he has to be. But with his spear power, he could potentially be an asset.

I nod to acknowledge him and then begin to eat my lunch. Beef and gravy. The more protein, the better.

Then training resumes. I take to the wrestling and knife stations. Clove is handy with the knives and she spends a lot of time teaching me how to throw them.

"Have you noticed that," Clove begins, "the District 12 tributes have been to all the weird stations. Look at them right now." I do so. Katniss is at the edible insects section, and Peeta looks like he's headed back to the camouflage station. He's so cute. "I wonder what they're up to. They must have one skill."

"Well, Peeta's cute. Does that count?" I ask jokingly.

"His pretty face won't be much with my knife cutting it into pieces. Do you want him a part of our alliance?"

"I still don't know." Clove rolls her eyes at me.

"Well, figure it out, Cato."

"Let's see what he can do, maybe?"

"Blend in with nature," she answers dismissively.

Clove and I continue training together until it's time to head up to our rooms for dinner. Our escort and Brutus are already eating, and don't bother to ask about training. We're self-sufficient. We don't need their guidance. There isn't much conversation. Clove and I can talk before we decide to sleep and our escort is too busy revising the schedule.

I go up to the roof to relax before I go to sleep. The blonde, District 12 tribute is already up here, and he doesn't even have to look back to know it's me. "Up here again? Good evening, Cato."

"I just need to clear my thoughts before I sleep," I share in a casual tone. "And yourself?"

"Same. The first day was pretty tiring, so I needed to step out for a moment," he replies to me. He clears his throat and then begins to talk again. "Cato, what you said in the bathroom. 'You too'... What'd you mean?"

I look into his face and see that it is innocent. He doesn't understand that I think he's attractive. He doesn't understand that I'm trying to flirt with him in the most innocent of ways. Or maybe he's starting to understand it, but doesn't know to believe it. _It means that I want you. In my bed. No clothes. Now_.

I don't say that, of course. "Your work at the camouflage station was top-notch," I lie.

"Oh. I thought that was it. Thanks."

Can't I just tell him that I have a tiny crush on him? What's the harm in that? One or both of us will end up dead within the next couple of weeks. So does it really matter?

We sit out there for a while, watching over the Capitol, when I decide that it's time for me to sleep. "Goodnight, Peeta." Just to test it out, I wink at him again, and I get the same result. He's blushing.

"Erm, Goodnight, Cato."

* * *

I make it back to the penthouse, where Effie awaits. "Goodnight, Mr. Mellark."

Sleep comes a little less easy. My dreams are a mixture of Cato and death. When I wake up, I figure that I dreamt of Cato because he was the last person I had a full conversation with. And I dreamt of death because, well, it's the Hunger Games.

The day is almost the same as yesterday. Katniss and I eat breakfast, and then head to training a little earlier. Our focus for the day is fire making, which Katniss has some remedial experience in. We go to the knives section, where the instructor teaches us how to use the knife as a weapon and a tool. We even try fishing with nets. We're communicating a bit better today.

I've actually picked up some useful skills, but it's not enough to survive in the arena. My snares will be insufficient when the time comes. I probably won't retrieve any weaponry from the Cornucopia. And I probably won't be able to tell the difference between the plants in the forest. I just have to keep trying and hope for the best. The training is rigorous, but hopefully will pay off.

When we're in the elevator on the way up to our floor, Cato and I ride next to each other. We don't say anything to each other, but, before he exits off of his floor, he smiles at me, winks, and then leaves. But I turn red again and hope that nobody notices. Is this wink some sort of common greeting in District 2?

When Katniss and I arrive to our floor, she quietly states, "I noticed what you did back there." I turn to her and give her a puzzled look. "I'm not an expert, but I can tell that you like him, Peeta."

I'm not sure if my cheeks can get any redder, but I quickly retort, "Katniss, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't like Cato."

Maybe "I don't" isn't the right phrase. I can't like him. It's too risky to put my feelings out there during the Hunger Games.

"I never said his name. I could have been talking about anyone. Just play it smart, Peeta. I could care less about your romantic interests. Remember that he is a Career. He is your enemy. He might be taking advantage of your feelings so he can kill you off easily."

I don't want to believe her, but it's the safest thing to do. Purging any thoughts for Cato is a good option. It's less mental baggage that I can take into the arena.

I decide to go straight to sleep after I eat dinner that night. I hope he's comfortable on the roof.

* * *

**Again, sorry that you guys had to wait so long. I didn't think that summer would be this busy, but thank you for those who have reviewed. Hope you all have wonderful days! (:**


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